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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390886">Venom In My Veins</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyThreads/pseuds/GalaxyThreads'>GalaxyThreads</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Avengers Family, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Child Neglect, Consequences, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Family, Gen, Horror, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It Gets Worse, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Loki &amp; Peter Parker Friendship, Mystery, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Tony Stark, Parent-Child Relationship, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Horror, Seizures, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, and we love him, ignoring the end of endgame like a pro, may's A+ parenting, not WandaVision compliant, not the Falcon and Winter Solider compliant, peter also needs a whack over the head because he's an idiot, peter is struggling and needs to be told its okay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:26:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,404</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390886</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyThreads/pseuds/GalaxyThreads</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the snap, Peter wasn't great but he was coping. Tony's not dead, and that's all he can ask for, right? Then an SI employee winds up dead, and then his teacher, and Peter becomes aware that his recent blackouts may be connected. Or the cause. (Gen, no smut) [Post-Endgame where nobody dies]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Loki &amp; Peter Parker, Peter Parker &amp; Avengers Team, Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>120</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey! Been a while. I don't really have anything to say for myself beyond mental illness sucks and I needed a break from MCU. But thanks to those who have waited patiently, and hello to anyone new. :)</p><p>Warnings: Canon typical violence, PTSD, horror, psychological horror, child neglect, graphic descriptions of violence, gore, seizures, May's A+ parenting, possible self-harm. More warnings will be posted at the top of chapters. No slash, no smut, no non-con, no incest. Language is all K.</p><p>Set: Post-Endgame, but alternative an alternative Endgame where no one died.</p><p>Parings: Pepper/Tony, maybe some Thor/Jane?</p><p>Everyone please stay safe and healthy.</p><p>For your information, this story is cross-posted on Fanfiction.Net under the penname of "LodestarJumper." </p><p>Just a personal note, if you could refrain from using cussing/strong language if you comment (no offense to how you speak! Promise! =) It just makes me uncomfortable) I would greatly appreciate that. ;)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Sometimes we are just collateral damage</em>
</p><p>
  <em>in someone else's war with themselves."</em>
</p><p>-Lauren Eden</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Through the thick haze of sleep, he feels something hard prick his back. It's sharp and impending, almost as if something is being driven inside of his spinal column. No, not prick. Drilling. The pain is distant, far away, but present. Hot and cold. Gone and there all at once.</p><p>Somewhere within him, he flinches, but his body barely responds to his desperate need to pull away. There's only a sluggish shifting of his hands and a lazy roll of his left knee. He's laying down. On his stomach. An attempt to move only reveals restraints. Across his wrists, ankles, and his back.</p><p>He can't remember how he got here. He doesn't even know where he is.</p><p>He moans low in his throat.</p><p>The sensation along his back stops for a moment—blades, knives?—and he feels something plastic and rough touch his bare skin, just above the source of pain at the small of his back. He realizes with no small amount of humiliation that he's been stripped to his boxers, his body vulnerable and exposed. He feels hot and heavy, too heavy to lift his head.</p><p>He drags his eyelids apart, but all there is to see is a murky, indistinguishable gray.</p><p>There's a sharp, snapping voice. He can't make out words because it sounds like they're speaking through thick glass. Familiar, but he doesn't know from where. Response, more voices, then a sharp jab of a needle against the side of his right leg. His consciousness spins, swirling emptiness awaiting him, and he can wrestle against nothing to stop it.</p><p>He falls, scrabbling in the darkness, looking for anything to stop his descent, but there's only the blackness winking back at him. Laughing. Taunting. Always there, always present, always <em>wanting. </em>Pressure starts to build in his chest until it feels like his lungs will simply tear themselves apart, regardless of their bone cage, and he <em>screams—</em></p><p>—Jolting up, flailing, panting.</p><p>
  <em>Up?</em>
</p><p>"—whoa! Easy! Hey, hey, Peter, calm down!" Ned's voice is loud enough to hurt, and Peter winces, ducking his head. He bites on his tongue when he realizes that an awful, ragged noise is escaping him, making it seem like he's wailing on his deathbed. His tongue is dry and his throat feels swollen. Hands grip his biceps, the fingers persistent in their pressure. Ned. Clinging to him.</p><p>Peter heaves in deep breaths, shaking his head to clear it, feeling sick. His mouth is full of saliva, bile lingering on the edge of his throat. The sensation of pain at his back whispers through him, and psychosomatic ache rolls across his spine. He grimaces, biting harshly on his lower lip. The urge to groan swaddles him, but he refuses to give in.</p><p>
  <em>A dream. Just a dream. Calm down.</em>
</p><p>But he doesn't know why he's dreaming if it smells like sweat, dust and the lingering edge of something other that assaults his senses. Midtown. He's...school. He's at school.</p><p>"Hey, Peter, hey," Ned's voice is slightly higher than normal with fear. Peter realizes that the grip on his arms isn't tight for stability so much as it is because Ned's anxiety is augmented so high. He blinks. The familiar long, repetitive halls of Midtown High lazily coming into focus. Everything feels slightly black around the edges.</p><p>He licks his lips, but can't find the will to speak. He looks up at the other teen, meeting Ned's blown-wide eyes for the first time since he...woke up? He doesn't know what happened. Did he pass out? He's not currently injured beyond a few nasty bruises. His body feels weird, almost like it's someone else's that he's tentatively touching, and he doesn't know why. His head is thick with fog like he's been vacuuming it directly into his skull.</p><p>Ned's shoulders drop a fraction when Peter meets his gaze, as if the simple action of their eyes meeting is enough to reassure him that Peter isn't about to spontaneously combust. Peter's mouth opens, but that's all that gets out. He's starting to sag in Ned's grip, body unwilling to support him.</p><p>And the fingers tighten further into his arms, hard enough to tempt bruises, and he's shaken roughly. Furthering nausea lingers in the back of his throat, and he breathes out sharply, looking toward the other teen for an explanation.</p><p>"Hey, hey, focus! MJ went to get the nurse," Ned explains. He's still too close, voice too loud.</p><p>Nurse? Why would she get the nurse? He's fine.</p><p>Peter's gaze slides away from Ned. There's other teens in the hall. Most of them he doesn't know. Which given the five-year-gap between them and the Blip, Peter guesses makes sense. Their stares are boring into him, as if he's something to study. As if there's something <em>wrong </em>with him. Maybe...maybe…</p><p>
  <em>I can't remember what happened.</em>
</p><p>Peter's hands tremble, and he clenches them into fists, looking at Ned's face and wishing he could crawl into the nearest locker. The humiliation starting to sting him feels both familiar and foreign all at once. Ned frowns, a crease forming between his eyebrows.</p><p>"Peter?"</p><p>"I," he rasps, his voice thick. He coughs lightly, feeling like there's something cold, wet, and slimy in his throat. He grimaces again. He forces his abdominal muscles to pull their weight, and sits up then forward, crossing his legs and propping his elbows on them burying his face into his hands. Ned's grip releases him, only for one of his hands to rest against Peter's shoulder. He stiffens.</p><p><em>Don't touch it, </em>Peter thinks vividly about his back and Ned's proximity to it, and bites on his tongue. It was just a dream, if a familiar one over the last few weeks. It wasn't real. He doesn't need to be defensive about something that never happened. What is <em>wrong </em>with him?</p><p>"Hey, hey, out of my way!" Comes the frustrated voice of the nurse, Mrs. Kurn. The throaty, deep but gentle tone she normally sports is sharp. Peter finds himself leaning away from it despite himself. Mrs. Kurn must push her way through the crowd of onlookers, because her hands are all but shoving Ned out of the way and leaning down in front of him. When she touches him, her fingers are cold, and a deep, throbbing ache pulses through him.</p><p>This time, he can't suppress the guttural moan.</p><p>"Peter? Hey, Peter, sweetheart, can you look at me?" Mrs. Kurn asks. Peter digs his palms harder into his eye sockets and shakes his head minutely. Mrs. Kurn doesn't make any verbal indication that she saw, and instead her hands shift slightly as she likely turns away.</p><p>"Keith! Get them out of here. They're distressing him and I don't know if we should move him yet." He's not dying. It's just...he doesn't know what this is. It's not an emergency. She doesn't have to treat it like he'll keel over if she doesn't. He's fine. Just a little winded and dizzy. A few minutes then he'll be able to get up.</p><p>But Peter doesn't move. He doesn't know if he can.</p><p>There's a shuffling of footsteps and a man's voice. A teacher. Peter was just talking to him. Biology. His biology teacher. The sound grows louder as the students are herded from the hall and back to class by the teachers he didn't realize were there. Peter clutches at the edges of his hair for a moment, feeling a bone-aching weariness snuggle next to his heart.</p><p>Mrs. Kurt's tone is quieter, "Do you want me to get rid of your friends?"</p><p>Peter considers it for a long moment, but shakes his head. Mrs. Kurt taps his shoulder, "Look at me, sweetheart."</p><p>Why does she keep calling him that? May only calls him pet names when she's angry. Sometimes he wonders if they're ever used to show affection, because movies and TV do the same thing. He sighs deeply, rubbing at his brow before gritting his teeth and raising his heavy head up. The weight feels like it's pulling at every side of his neck, and he has to take a moment to steady himself before squinting his eyes open.</p><p>The gray-black edge has faded, but the disorientation still remains. There's a draft coming down the hall, and Peter wants to find another jacket. Bright light assaults his eyes as Mrs. Kurt flicks a penlight across his irises. He jerks away from her a fraction, spotting MJ and Ned behind her.</p><p>MJ is standing a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest, lips pressed together into a thin line of worry. Her left eye is hidden by her hair, which Peter knows she does on purpose when she's worried. Ned is still sitting on his haunches next to Peter, looking distressed and unhappy.</p><p>"Your pupils are even and reactive." Mrs. Kurt says, and holds a digital thermometer up to his forehead. He's not familiar with the model, but it's that way with a lot of things now. It beeps and she frowns at the temperature. "You have a low-grade fever, but nothing to cause this. Do you feel nauseous?"</p><p>"A little." Peter whispers. He tucks his hands against his stomach. "What...I don't remember what happened."</p><p>Mrs. Kurt frowns deeper, the wisps of gray hair falling toward the sides of her face, making the ridges on her skin look sharper. She's older than Peter remembers her. She moves slower, and her lips are more faded. The blonde hair has grayed and whitened. She was nearing the end of her fifties when Peter chased after Thanos, and now she's half a decade older than that.</p><p>But she's familiar. A rarity now.</p><p>"We were talking," Ned pipes up, hands smoothing over invisible lines on his jeans. "Your eyes just sort of...spazzed and then you fell over. I thought you were having a seizure, but you didn't...you didn't shake or anything, you just…" he pulls his bottom lip in, casting his eyes away from Peter, moisture clinging to the rims of them.</p><p>Peter frowns. He doesn't remember...he sort of has a distant memory of discussing their class with Ned, MJ trailing behind them with her face hidden behind her phone. They stopped at the lockers and Peter...he was grabbing a book when it felt like all the energy in his body had been pulled from him. It felt like a punch to the stomach, and it was replaced by this fiery heat and…</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>Just that dream.</p><p>Peter's teeth set, unsure if he's panicked or despairing. This is the third time it's happened since last Tuesday. He tried to tell May about it, but she'd just said that he must be falling asleep. He'd never had an episode happen when he was talking to someone before. And that <em>dream.</em></p><p>"Peter?" Mrs. Kurt looks close to snapping her fingers in front of his eyes, checking for signs of life. Peter blinks a few times, refocusing on her. Her gray eyes narrow in on him. "Michelle said that you were rigid, you weren't breathing. Has this happened to you before?"</p><p>Peter averts his gaze from MJ and Ned's piercing ones, clearly wanting to know the same. "Um. This is the...the third time in the last week." He admits. "I wasn't standing up for the other ones. And they were shorter. I thought I was just...I don't know, falling asleep or something."</p><p>Mrs. Kurt tips her head, "Do you have that severe sleep deprivation?"</p><p>
  <em>Oh, you have no idea.</em>
</p><p>"I, uh, have pretty severe insomnia," Peter explains, which isn't a lie so much as a half truth. "So, I guess?"</p><p>The nurse sighs quietly, rubbing at her forehead with two fingers. Peter follows her movements. His eyelids feel raw. "I see. That's definitely one possible reason, but what Michelle described to me sounded more like a seizure. Have you been diagnosed with epilepsy?"</p><p>Epile…?</p><p>Oh. No. That's...It could have been a tonic seizure. His stomach tightens, dread settling somewhere above his hips and clinging to the skin, making it feel tight and cramping. He licks his lips, but doesn't speak. He shakes his head instead, unsure if his voice would come out evenly.</p><p>He hasn't had any lasting severe medical problems since the bite. This has to be something else. He doesn't have <em>epilepsy. </em>It's just...he doesn't know, but exhaustion makes a lot more sense than a seizure. It wasn't...it's not. <em>He's fine.</em></p><p>Mrs. Kurt sighs quietly, "I think it would be a good idea to see a doctor about it. Having more than two seizures, if that is what this is, in rapid succession like this isn't a good sign. This could be a sign of something else happening, and it's just better to catch these things earlier than later, okay?"</p><p>No. Yes, he understands, but no he's not going to do anything about it. What can he? May lost her job after coming back from the Blip, and they're already strained for finances as it is. If they want to keep the apartment and eat something soon, he has to clamp down on this. Whatever it is, his healing factor will take care of it.</p><p>
  <em>Sure. That's why it hasn't already done so?</em>
</p><p>Peter brushes the voice off and nods. "O-okay." He agrees, biting on his tongue. He blinks several times, still trying to clear away the last lingering fog and breathes out between his teeth. His eyes make their way back to Mrs. Kurt after avoiding yet another attempt MJ is making to catch them. "Is...is it okay if I go home?"</p><p>School isn't supposed to get out for another couple of hours, but the thought of remaining here for any longer makes him want to puke.</p><p>Mrs. Kurt's eyes soften. "I wasn't going to make you stay if you didn't want to. There doesn't appear to be any damage and though I imagine you're a little tired, going home is probably what's best for you right now." She settles a hand on his forehead for a moment, and Peter swallows back furthering nausea at the coldness of her fingers. It's almost painful. She pulls back and he has to stop a relieved breath from escaping. "You have your phone?"</p><p>Peter nods and pulls out the device with weak fingers. The few ounces of weight feel like tons and his hand sags a little in his lap as he opens it. He scrolls through his contacts, his thumb hovering over Tony's name before moving down to May's.</p><p>He should call, probably, but he doesn't, thumbs smearing across the screen as he tries to text. He manages to get a jumble of words together, but whether or not they're actually coherent is anyone's guess. His intended <em>The nurse wants to send me home, can you come pick me up? </em>is probably somewhere close, but he can't make the letters focus enough to read his sentence. He turns off his phone and lets it rest on his leg.</p><p>Mrs. Kurt is squinting at him, and brushes hair from her face. <em>Stop looking at me, </em>he thinks widely. "Do you want me to call for you?"</p><p>He shoves his phone into his jacket's pocket.</p><p>"No, I, um, texted. I think I'm going to wait outside." He says, suddenly desperate to be out from under her stare. Her head tips, but he's already scrambling up to his feet. He nearly lands flat on his fact again, if not for Ned's hand wrapping around his arm and clinging to him. Peter pushes his other hand against Ned's chest, and they sit there for a second as Peter waits for the world to right itself.</p><p>"Are you still feeling dizzy?" Mrs. Kurt asks. "I could see if I could find some medication to help."</p><p>"No," Peter says, opening his eyes. He can't remember when he closed them. "That's okay. Thanks though." He tries for a weak smile and is certain it's barely anything near reassuring.</p><p>Mrs. Kurt sighs, but doesn't stop him. She looks at MJ and Ned, and, apparently deciding they're going to ditch, says, "I'll write you both up a note. Come and get me immediately if anything changes, alright?"</p><p>"Yes ma'am," Ned's voice is faint. Peter clenches his fingers around his gray shirt for a moment, then lets it go and forces his body to grapple for equilibrium. <em>You're fine, you're fine, you're fine…</em></p><p>Peter breathes out deeply, his lungs feeling cold, and takes several steps forward. He doesn't pitch to the side, his head remains firmly attached to his shoulders, and he doesn't pass out. Considering this a success, he keeps moving forward. The piercing stare of Mrs. Kurt lingers on the back of his head, but beyond curling into himself slightly, he does his best to ignore it.</p><p>MJ appears at his other side, looking like she wants to help, but isn't sure how. She's holding his backpack, which is good, because he doesn't know when he put it down.</p><p>Peter moves like an old man, rigid and stiff, but he <em>moves, </em>and the three of them make slow but unfaltering progress to the outside of Midtown inside of five minutes. Ned helps lower him onto the stairs, taking a seat on his left. MJ drops his backpack at his feet and sits on his right. The two of them are quiet, the only sound Peter's somewhat ragged breathing.</p><p>MJ says a loud cuss with an edge of hysteria in her tone. She repeats it, making nonsense of the word as she adds false endings to it in growing panic. Peter looks up at her, blinks, and has no idea what to do for long seconds as his brain struggles to catch up. <em>Say something, </em>his mind commands him. <em>I can't. </em>He opens his mouth to try and all that's there is emptiness.</p><p>"MJ." Ned says softly. Not in warning, but sympathy.</p><p>MJ's tongue snakes out, but then she closes her mouth and says forcefully, "Why didn't you tell us that you'd been <em>freakin' passing out!?"</em></p><p>Peter blinks at her. "I...I just...it wasn't…?"</p><p>She shakes her head, looking incredulous and murderous. She jabs him in the shoulder with her pointer finger. "<em>You </em>said no more secrets after Thanos killed us. <em>You </em>said that, you freaking hypocrite."</p><p>He winces. After MJ pulled him aside in the summer to let him know that she was well aware of his alter ego, he'd been trying. But this was different. This wasn't <em>important.</em></p><p>"MJ…" he tries, but doesn't know what to say and lets it hang there.</p><p>MJ shakes her head, pressing her fingers against her temples. "He just…" she turns to him, eyes sharp. "You just...you just <em>fell over. </em>What the heck, Parker?! Your eyes...and you just—" she slams a weak fist against his chest, looking sick and exhausted, and it nearly topples him. She hits him again, then again, but her blows, though forceful, are tempered. "You weren't breathing...and <em>why...weren't...you breathing, you selfish bas—"</em></p><p>Peter pulls her against him, gripping her shuddering body against his own. He closes his eyes as she leans into him, sounding like she's choking, but Peter knows she's trying not to cry. He exhales deeply. He doesn't know. He doesn't know why this happened, or why this <em>keeps</em> happening, and he doesn't know what that stupid dream means or why he keeps having it. He doesn't know how to help May through her relapse, and he doesn't know what to do about Tony and that stupid lawsuit.</p><p>He just.</p><p>
  <em>I don't know.</em>
</p><p><em>"</em>Sorry." Peter mumbles.</p><p>Ned's hand rests against his back, helping keep him upright as MJ silently clings to him. His body is exhausted, but it won't be forever. In a few minutes he'll be back to feeling half dead instead of three-fourths of the way there. They're quiet for several minutes, but none of them move. Or speak.</p><p>Peter's thoughts spin, but he can't break the silence first. Maybe he doesn't want to. He doesn't know, and part of him doesn't care.</p><p>His phone remains quiet and unmoving inside of his pocket. May hasn't texted him back, and it's been almost fifteen minutes. His lips purse together and he bites on the inside of his cheek. As if sensing his thoughts, MJ mumbles into his shirt, "She's not going to come, is she?"</p><p>"I can try calling," Peter says, feeling doubt creep into the edges of his voice. <em>I don't know how much good it will do, </em>he keeps to himself.</p><p>Ned sighs, and MJ scoffs. The amount of their combined disapproval causes something in him to go hard. MJ says, without much of anything in her tone, "Why? She's probably passed out somewhere. Drunk. <em>Again.</em>"</p><p><em>She was when I left this morning, </em>he thinks.</p><p>Peter twitches. His throat still feels dry. "It hasn't been easy for her," he defends. The same argument he's been spinning pointlessly since May lost the last job she was applying for in August and went on a three day bender. Her first drink since her attempt to go clean in the months following Ben's death.</p><p>Ned and MJ don't argue. They've been down this road what feels like a dozen times before. His shoulders sag, but the familiar disappointment at May's no-show lost it's bite a long time ago.</p><p>"You need to go home," Ned points out, "I can call my mom. You can sleep over for a few days."</p><p>He hasn't slept over at Ned's since those first few nights after the Vulture. The memories of the panic attacks in the Leeds' bathroom isn't something he wants to revisit. Besides…he shakes his head without much conviction. "May needs me at home right now."</p><p>"May wouldn't notice if you went missing for days." MJ's voice is biting, and he lets her go, stung.</p><p>May isn't his mom. He knows that. His mom is happily buried beside his dad in a plot at the cemetery, and has been since he was four. But she's really the only mom he can really remember in his childhood, and <em>she would notice if he went missing. </em>She has to. She's not so far gone yet that Peter has become obsolete. He can still help.</p><p>He doesn't know what to say, mouth open, but all the defense he wants to shout sounds exhausting, and the urge to curl in on himself and admit defeat is just as tempting. He doesn't do either, and instead pulls out his phone. MJ pulls away from him, and he feels terrible that part of him is grateful. The comfort of MJ and Ned's presence is soiled with their opinions. What does that say about him, that he wants them there, but not really <em>there?</em></p><p><em>We're all so different now, </em>he thinks with longing and frustration, <em>none of us came back the same. How could we?</em></p><p>He scrolls until he finds Happy's number, and presses call before he can convince himself otherwise. The line rings several times, then goes to voicemail. Tears of sheer frustration build on the edges of his eyes, but he presses call again. Ned and MJ watch, silent.</p><p>The line rings twice before Happy's rugged, breathlessly tight voice says, <em>"Kid, unless you're dying, now's not a good time."</em></p><p>
  <em>I can't. What? I don't. It.</em>
</p><p>Peter hesitates, any willpower he had to ask the man for help dying an abrupt, painful death. "Uh, sorry. I'll call someone else. Do you know if Tony's busy?" He works his lower lip between his teeth, leaning forward a fraction. His heart sits in his throat, desperate and wanting.</p><p>Happy pauses, long enough that Peter can hear a muddle of voices on the other end of the line. One of which is Tony, which answers that question. <em>"You don't sound so hot. You alright?"</em></p><p>
  <em>No. My hands are shaking and the world is graying out.</em>
</p><p>"Um. Yeah. You sound busy. It's okay. Sorry to have bothered you." Peter says. MJ lightly smacks his arm in protest, and he looks back at her. She mouths <em>just ask him. </em>He shakes his head, returning a voiceless <em>no.</em></p><p>"Kid—" Happy sighs, exasperated, and that's the total Peter hears of that sentence. Ned snakes the phone from his pliant grip and though Peter makes a scrambled dive for it, his limbs are stiff and fluid all at once. The most he does is end up toppling forward onto Ned's lap. His face heats and he scrambles to pull himself up.</p><p>"Ned—" he starts, desperate.</p><p><em>I can't force myself on them. If they don't want to help, they shouldn't </em>have <em>to, </em>his thoughts race frantically. Ned will make them. Ned will <em>make </em>them help him, and Peter doesn't want that. It should be a choice, and Happy really <em>did </em>sound occupied. Too busy for him. Which is fine. It's not like he isn't used to it.</p><p>"Mr. Happy, sir? This is Ned, Peter's friend," Ned isn't usually an awkward person, but put him on a phone and Peter can barely recognize him. "No, no, he's not fine, sir. We think he had a seizure. Sir."</p><p>
  <em>No. No, don't—</em>
</p><p>Peter tries to grab at the phone, but Ned evades him with so little effort it's embarrassing. "Ned," Peter hisses, "give me the phone."</p><p>Ned makes a face at him, but nods to something Happy said, "Yeah. No. The nurse gave him a sort of all-clear. She just wanted to send him home. Sir. His aunt can't come get him, she's...busy." A pause, in which Ned smacks Peter's hand away. He makes an <em>uh-huh </em>sound several times. Peter hears MJ shift behind him.</p><p><em>I hate this. </em>The voice in his head, for all the weight those words should carry, is oddly dead.</p><p>"Yeah. Here." Ned hands the phone back to Peter with a challenging expression. Peter pulls the device from him heatedly, biting at the edge of his tongue to quell his bouncing nerves. Everything feels flayed raw, alive, yet dead and muffled.</p><p>A paradox.</p><p>A confusing mass of everything and nothing he has to wade through to get anywhere.</p><p>He lifts the device to his ear, bracing himself. His stomach muscles tighten in preparation for yelling. <em>"Peter?"</em> Happy's voice is even, which is worse. Peter can hear the edge of stress gnawing at it.<em> "I'm coming to get you. Stay put."</em></p><p>"But I—" Peter starts.</p><p><em>"You have a seizure, you don't get to argue</em>." Happy's voice brokers no room for argument, not that Peter's sure he'd have been up for the challenge in the first place. A dull throb begins to pound behind his eyes. "<em>Why didn't the nurse contact Tony?"</em></p><p>The question, he can tell, isn't really meant for him as much as it is the universe in general, but Peter still offers a tentative answer. "She didn't drag me to the office and saw me text May. I don't think she saw a point."</p><p><em>"She still has to report it. So she shouldn't—nevermind."</em> Happy is moving now. <em>"Let me just explain to Tony where I'm going, then—"</em></p><p>"No!" Peter blurts. He closes his eyes. He almost feels like laughing as Hagrid's insistence of <em>shouldn't have said that </em>from the first <em>Harry Potter </em>movie comes barreling into his mind. He and Ned used to make fun of it all the time. "Just." He rubs at the lower half of his face, offering as a hasty explanation, "Tony's already stressed enough as it is, okay? With OsCorp riding on his butt twenty-four seven now, I'm the last thing he wants to deal with."</p><p>Happy snorts. "<em>Again. Seizure. No argument."</em></p><p>"Happy." Peter moans in protest.</p><p>"<em>Ha. No. You sound like crap. I'll be there in less than twenty." </em>The line clicks, and Peter holds the phone against his face for a moment, feeling frustrated, tired, and bitterly grateful. Twenty minutes. Happy must be at Avengers' Tower. Given that the Compound is ashes laying in a charred debris field the size of a small city, there's not many other places he could be where Tony also is.</p><p>"He coming?" MJ asks after a moment.</p><p>"Yeah." Peter pulls the phone away, setting it on his lap. He breathes out deeply, flexing his left hand's fingers over his knee. Ned doesn't say anything, but he seems relieved, and when their eyes meet for a moment, there's no regret there. Peter doesn't know how to feel about that. "He'll be here in twenty," Peter says quietly.</p><p>He stares forward onto the street, wrapping his arms around his stomach.</p><p>There's few words passed between them before the familiar black sedan is pulling up in front of the school. Peter clambers up to his stiff legs and grabs his backpack, clumsily working the zipper closed. He slides his phone into his pocket and haltingly makes his way forward toward the car. Ned and MJ follow, but he makes it to the car on his own.</p><p>The door for the passenger side is pushed open before he can grab it, and Peter catches a glimpse of Happy leaning back toward the driver's side. He grabs the edge of the door, then looks back at his friends. Their earnest eyes flick across his face, and he feels himself soften.</p><p>"Thanks." He says as a peace offering. Their faces line knowingly.</p><p>"Text us when you get home." MJ says. "Or if you end up dead in the hospital, loser."</p><p>His lip quirks up a fraction. "Yeah." He agrees, then clambers inside of the car. He throws the bag toward his feet and pulls the door shut, clumsily working with fingers that feel like a different human's to pull down the seatbelt and snap it into place.</p><p>Then he looks up at Happy's familiar features. Happy squints at him, looking Peter up and down. "You look terrible." He concludes. He pulls the car out of park and eases them back onto the main road. Peter rubs at his forehead, trying to ease the low headache.</p><p>"Thanks." He mutters.</p><p>"You want to tell me what happened?" It isn't a question.</p><p><em>I barely know more than you. </em>Peter shrugs, glancing out the window for a moment. "I don't really want to talk about it," he says, rubbing his left hand against the side of his leg. "Ned explained what happened, right?"</p><p>"Sort of. Kid wasn't very lucrative with information." Happy's hands tighten a fraction around the steering wheel, as if remembering something. "Look. Tony wanted to be here, but something happened at the Tower and he's a little tied up."</p><p>Peter frowns. The urge to ask what is there, but his desire to remain in the dark is more overpowering. <em>Ignorance is bliss, </em>he's heard before. Knowing everything isn't always a blessing. Information hurts. But he can't <em>not </em>know, because this is Tony, and Peter <em>wants </em>to, even if Happy's voice reassures him it isn't going to be anything pleasant.</p><p>"What happened?" The words feel heavy. The trepidation in his body only reaffirms this.</p><p>Happy sighs deeply. "Media will be exploding with this in a few hours, despite our best efforts. Pepper's PA got her skull bashed in. We found the body a few hours ago."</p><p>Peter blinks, not understanding. Then, slowly, he feels himself tighten, his eyes widen. "Wait...murder. Someone got <em>murdered?"</em></p><p>He can't feel his face. His legs are a lost cause, and the nausea makes a cheerful reappearance. His lips are dry, but even with halfhearted effort, he can't moisten them. Peter knows Pepper's PA. Sort of. He's seen her before, at least. She's a tall Asian woman with laugh lines and hard eyes. Peter was always privately a little terrified of her, but that's probably because she was a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and was perfectly capable of kicking his butt if needed.</p><p>
  <em>I know—knew her.</em>
</p><p>Murder.</p><p>Someone…</p><p>"Oh my gosh," Peter breathes. "Is...is...do they know who?" Killed. Someone <em>killed </em>her. For as long as he can remember, death hasn't been a foreign concept to him. But though Ben's mugger was an act of violence, this isn't the same. That was a desperate man. Ben was a means to an end for him. But this is…</p><p>Murder.</p><p>This didn't happen on a mission. It was. She's…</p><p>"No." Happy's voice is tight. "Not yet. FRIDAY doesn't have any memory of last night, and Tony's trying to see if he can find it right now for the NYPD." There's a soft rap against the steering wheel. Anxiety. "Man solves time travel, but can't find four hours of footage?"</p><p>That was supposed to be funny.</p><p>Peter doesn't laugh.</p><p>Someone got <em>murdered, </em>and Peter is whining about the fact he passed out? If he'd just called May, then they could have focused on that, and wouldn't have to deal with him and his incessant needs. He's like a leech, sucking everything bone dry until he pulls himself away and crawls off to enjoy his satiation.</p><p>He bites at the tip of his finger, flexing out his toes. The sensation of them pressing against his sneakers offers some grounding. "S-sorry. Sorry." He says more firmly the second time. He pulls his eyes away from Happy. "I shouldn't have called. Sorry."</p><p>"Don't apologize." Happy says firmly, if tiredly. Peter shakes his head, disgusted with himself, and the former head of security then adds, "Tony was thinking of pulling you out of school anyway, so this just makes things easier on all of us."</p><p>So what? Peter could help him solve a <em>murder? </em>Does he at all resemble Sherlock Holmes?</p><p>Peter looks at the man. "<em>Why? </em>What am I going to do?"</p><p>Happy makes a slight noise, like laughter, but stuck in his throat. "Nothing? He has some of the best assassins on the planet helping him. Forgive me for not thinking a high schooler going to compete with that, even if you are enhanced."</p><p>Yeah. He knows. Peter versus Avenger isn't a hard bet.</p><p>"Okay," Peter breathes out, "so…?"</p><p>"Her body was on their kitchen table." Happy says, as if that explains everything, and it sort of does. Peter's insides clench. Some random murder in SI would have been unfortunate, but it's a big company. Pepper's freaking <em>PA </em>gets her skull bashed in and the body dumped on their table? That's personal. That's a threat.</p><p>And exactly what OsCorp has been railing about. Great. That's not going to fuel their self aggrandized ideas at all. This is just something else to add they can add to their stupid lawsuit, and if stuff like this keeps happening, Tony really <em>is </em>going to lose and end up in prison.</p><p>"Is...are they okay?" Peter finally asks. He should have asked that earlier. He wants to reach inside his skull and shake his brain back and forth until it starts running at even a fourth of its normal capacity.</p><p>"Yeah." Happy says in a way that means no. He takes a turn in silence. "I'm taking you to the Tower."</p><p>Protest dies in his throat before it ever meets air. May won't be awake for several hours. He'll be back before she starts on her next binge, and he'll stop it. This time. He will. He rubs aching hands across his head and feels exhaustion threatening to take his consciousness.</p><p>He rolls his lower lip between his teeth, unsure if he's allowed to jump topics yet. If it would be disrespectful to. But Happy isn't continuing on, so Peter hesitantly asks, "Hey, Happy? Do you, um, do you know if it's normal to...dream the same dream when you're having a seizure?"</p><p>Seizure.</p><p>
  <em>He had a seizure.</em>
</p><p>Happy's brow furrows. "Uh. Maybe? I don't know that much about them."</p><p>Peter runs a hand through his stiff hair. "I mean. The exact same thing. I know that people see stuff sometimes, but this just…" it doesn't feel the same. It's like he's going somewhere else entirely. But out of body isn't something uncommon to grand mals, either.</p><p>Peter bites on his lower lip. His hands thrum with anxiety. He thinks about the woman lying dead on Tony and Pepper's table, and feels a growing sense of dread sink and settle inside of him. The Tower is only getting closer, and with it a murder.</p><p>And despite how much Peter wants to cover his ears and close his eyes, he doesn't get that option.</p><p>"You okay, kid?" Happy asks when Peter doesn't say anything.</p><p>Peter blows out a breath between his teeth. <em>No </em>is what he thinks, but "yeah," is what he says.</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please leave a review if you're comfortable with that. :)</p><p>Next chapter: Uh. Hopefully before the end of Feb, but if not that March sometime.</p><p>Also, small note. I don't personally have epilepsy and I don't know anyone who does. All of my information comes from the internet. I'm trying to be sensitive, but I'm sorry to anyone I may inadvertently offend.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have nothing to say for myself. Sorry. Thank you for your patience, support, and comments. It has meant a lot to me. :)</p>
<p>Warnings: some blood, a corpse is discussed, and seizures are discussed.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <em>"The deeper you dig,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>the darker it gets."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>-unknown</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>There's little conversation for the rest of the drive. Happy's too worried to try for small talk, and Peter doesn't want to bother with it.</p>
<p>Instead, he wrings his hands and rubs them against the sides of his jeans compulsively, alternating from tapping his fingers along the seam line to bouncing his leg. There isn't any music, no radio, no white noise whatsoever save the bustling city around them. Horns, talking, cars, the bustle of sound is overwhelming to the point of painful, but it feels like a dull throb in the base of his skull because it's not the white noise that he <em>wants.</em></p>
<p>The base of Avengers Tower is swamped by news trucks and police cars, the flashing lights flickering up to the cloudy sky like blinking Christmas lights. Given that it's barely October, the sight is almost laughable with its oddity. Peter's seen the occasional movie section off the street to film with the same set of blue and red, but that was fake, and Peter <em>knew </em>it was fake.</p>
<p>This is different.</p>
<p>It's...colder, somehow.</p>
<p>Happy pulls the sedan around to the back of the building, where the entrance to the garage is located. The car doesn't garner any more attention than the dozens of others slowing for a moment as they pass by. They're as insignificant as some random civilian, for which Peter's immensely grateful.</p>
<p>Still, as they drive past the swarm through the reporters and NYPD, Peter ducks his head a little, wishing he had a hat to hide under. Or a mask. Stupid, he knows, given that no one looks at them twice. But it's an instinct he's long since learned to hone around the police.</p>
<p>As Happy is pulling the car into park inside of the garage almost twenty minutes after they left Midtown, Peter's stomach cramps painfully. There's none of the<em>—</em>admittedly little<em>—</em>relaxation and comfort that normally comes with the sight of this well-lit room. He spent most of his time at the Compound. Avengers Tower is something he's still getting used to, and he's not sure he ever will. It was a legend long before he stepped foot in it.</p>
<p>And now it's going to be crawling with the NYPD.</p>
<p>Murder. A crime scene. Avengers Tower is a <em>crime scene</em>. Because someone was <em>murdered</em> there. <em>Freakin'—</em>How? <em>How </em>has life changed so erratically that a murder could happen to someone that he knows?</p>
<p>Besides Ben.</p>
<p>But that wasn't malicious. It was an accident. This...wasn't.</p>
<p>Happy turns off the ignition, the sedan dying with a final grumbling huff of the engine. The man draws in a deep breath, visibly bracing himself. Then he looks at Peter, frowning, the edges of his eyes creasing. "C'mon, kid," he sighs, opening his door.</p>
<p>Peter would rather hide in the garage forever.</p>
<p>But he can't; he doesn't get that <em>choice.</em></p>
<p>Peter grabs at his backpack's strap, swallowing heavily, and follows after the former head of security. The garage is cool, and he grimaces at the drop in temperature from the car to the room. His legs feel wobbly and feeble, and he has to fight valiantly to keep his stomach in the right place, but he moves. The first few steps are a trembling sway, but they <em>are </em>steps.</p>
<p>Encouraged by this positive outcome, he swings his backpack over one shoulder and promptly loses any balance he had to the sudden weight change. He stumbles, hands flailing outward for something to grab at. The car is too far away to offer any help. He's going to fall.</p>
<p>Happy's fingers touch his arm a second later, then grab forcefully, pulling Peter back up. "Hey, hey, hey. You gonna pass out on me?"</p>
<p>The world spins. He closes his eyes. Peter pushes fingers against his forehead, breathing out sharply, begging equilibrium to take mercy on him. After a few seconds of waiting, he opens his eyes and blinks several times, watching as everything merges into one. The world rights. Happy's concerned face settles in front of him as the man moves, grabbing hold of both of Peter's shoulders.</p>
<p>Peter swallows thickly, his throat hot and sticky.</p>
<p>"Kid?" Then a more concerned, "Peter, look at me."</p>
<p>Peter tries, but his eyes slide away from the man's earnest ones after seeing the depth of emotion there. His throat tightens. He just wants to lay down somewhere warm. Maybe he should have fought harder for Happy to take him home. Murder can wait.</p>
<p>
  <em>(No, it can't. Nothing important ever can.)</em>
</p>
<p>"No. I'm good. I promise." Peter's words are gritted, and he bites on his tongue once they're out. He blinks a few more times, then tries and fails to push himself away from Happy's hands to prove his point. His back twinges with faint pain, but he brushes it off with more annoyance than worry. He flexes and clenches his fingers, wrapping his left hand into a fist around his backpack strap.</p>
<p>"Peter…" Happy says his name cautiously, like he's working up to say something that he knows Peter won't like. Peter shakes off Happy's hands with effort, more than he'd like to admit to, and then starts hobbling toward the elevator.</p>
<p>"I can do this." Peter reassures him, "It's not that far."</p>
<p>"I can get a stretcher or something." Happy protests.</p>
<p>Peter's face heats. "I'm not invalid."</p>
<p>"I <em>know."</em></p>
<p>Peter keeps walking, ignoring him. When did his backpack get so heavy?</p>
<p>There's a long beat before "you're going to be the death of me," Happy predicts in a groused mumble, but he catches up to Peter's stride quickly. Without saying a word, he grips Peter's bicep, and when Peter tries to wiggle free, raises a challenging eyebrow raise in response. Peter huffs, but gives up, and allows the man to offer support.</p>
<p>As much as he'd like to say otherwise, he needs it. Sitting out on the stairs next to MJ and Ned was one thing. They didn't really <em>do </em>anything. This movement is nauseating, making every part of his body feel wrong and stretched thin. Even after the other times he...blacked out, seized—whatever it was, he didn't feel this terrible.</p>
<p>He'd felt jittery and somewhat sick, but there wasn't this lingering weakness and ache.</p>
<p>Happy steers him into the elevator, thumbing one of the buttons. FRIDAY doesn't ask where to take them, and Peter stares up at one of her cameras, his stomach pulling. The lack of...<em>her</em> is like a blade being shoved inside his gut. He didn't realize how much he'd come to rely on her smooth presence until it's no longer there. And this, more than anything, unsettles him. More than the NYPD crawling around the base of the building. More than the press.</p>
<p>Because FRIDAY is an <em>AI. </em>You don't really just...turn those off with a flip of the switch. Whoever disabled her, even for a short time, would have had to know the system. The coding, the processing, known where her weaknesses are. And that information isn't public. Tony made sure of that. The only people that Peter can think of who'd know and <em>have</em> that knowledge off the top of their heads is maybe Natasha or Bruce.</p>
<p>"She's gone," Peter whispers as the elevator climbs toward the residential floors. "I mean...she's really…"</p>
<p>"Yeah." Happy says in equal solemnity. "I didn't really think that was possible without a major blackout to the city. Tony'll get her fully online again. Give him a few hours. I haven't seen a computer he couldn't get running."</p>
<p>But FRIDAY isn't a computer. In a weird sort of way, she's like a bodiless person. Peter frowns to himself, offering a quiet "yeah" in agreement that he doesn't really feel. The Tower feels violated in her absence. More so than it did knowing that someone killed here.</p>
<p>The doors open, bringing the common room into view. The flood of bright light from the large windows is immediately jarring yet still somewhat welcoming all at once. He squints into the warm glow, breathing in to steady himself. <em>I can do this, </em>he reassures himself. He can. He will.</p>
<p>Happy guides him forward, hand still at his elbow. Annoyed, but complacent, Peter doesn't fight it off.</p>
<p>The room looks both exactly the same as the last time Peter saw it, and completely different. The lighting is warm, but the atmosphere is thick with an unspoken tension. He can see evidence that people have been in and out of the room the entire day: a jacket hanging over the back of the couch, a pair of ratty tennis shoes—Steve's, he thinks—and miscellaneous thrown on top of flat surfaces.</p>
<p>The only people here are Bruce and Natasha, sitting at the counter to the small kitchen in silence. Natasha is nursing a cup of what looks like whiskey, but Peter couldn't tell various bottles of alcohol apart to save his life. There's a .45 gun resting on the table next to her shot glass. Peter stares at both the alcohol and the gun for a moment, feeling both sick and surprised. He knows that everyone in the Tower has pretty much adhered to Tony's no drinking policy, and to see it openly sitting on the countertop is incongruous.</p>
<p>And while Peter is well aware the entire Tower is filled with hidden weapons, almost no one leaves them out in the open. Morgan isn't stupid, but she's also only four. Peter has learned to see the subtle arming, just hasn't had to watch for the explicit one.</p>
<p>And why <em>wouldn't </em>Natasha have a weapon so openly displayed? A body was dumped on Tony's dining table. That doesn't exactly bring out anyone's pacifist side. Peter gets that, even as much as he doesn't like it. But still. It's...wrong isn't even a word he can use, because that's not what it is. It doesn't hold enough <em>weight.</em></p>
<p>At the sound of their approach, both Natasha and Bruce turn. There's no surprise in their equally haggard faces; they likely tracked their presence from the elevator by sound alone. Bruce's lip quirks a fraction, like he wants to smile, but can't put in the effort. His glasses are sliding down the bridge of his nose, distracting from the smudges beneath his eyes. Dark, long hair hangs in tangles around his head. His clothing is rumbled, but the familiar polo and black pants, suggesting that he didn't sleep in it.</p>
<p>Natasha is more put together, but the strain of the morning is obvious. She's in dark gray sweatpants and a black tank top. Red hair is tucked into a messy bun, and he can see the outline for another gun tucked at her back. Her socked feet are resting on the bars to the stool comfortably, but she's poised in offense.</p>
<p>Both their eyes slide on him, then Happy. Natasha returns to her glass, and Bruce frowns at him, then sighs. "Hey. You look terrible."</p>
<p>Peter's lips push together, but he doesn't offer any argument. It's not like he's seen a mirror. He can't even offer the mandatory sarcastic <em>thanks.</em> He's too tired.</p>
<p>Happy pushes him toward the stools, a quiet, but obvious encouragement for him to sit down. Peter complies, dropping his backpack to the floor and clambering onto the seat on Bruce's right side. The world gives a violent lurch, and he grips at the rim of the counter for balance, closing his eyes for a moment.</p>
<p>He wants to lay down. It doesn't feel like he slept last night, despite the fact that he knows he did. Restful sleep, not so much, but sleep all the same.</p>
<p>"How are you feeling?" Bruce asks after a moment of careful stillness.</p>
<p>Peter squints one eye open at him. Then, with a resigned sigh, drops his head into his hands. "You know?"</p>
<p>"About the seizure? Yeah." Bruce confirms, shifting slightly. Glass clinks against the countertop. "Happy wasn't really subtle about it."</p>
<p>The former head of security makes a sound in the back of his throat in irritation. "What, did you honestly think the FBI was going to let me go if I said I had an emergency? I had to be specific."</p>
<p><em>Everyone who was near Happy knows? </em>Peter's face grows hot, and he buries it further inside of his hands, wishing that the countertop would swallow him. This is humiliating. No one was supposed to <em>know </em>about this. It was just some strange...<em>thing</em> that happened sometimes. If they know, then they're going to hover, and if they hover, then Peter's going to be taking up more time than they actually want to give him.</p>
<p>"Yes, well," Natasha trails, tipping the bottle toward the shot glass. The amber liquid fizzes faintly as it falls inside of the cylinder. It's loud as she methodically sets it back onto the granite surface. Natasha doesn't drink it, but stares at it miserably, as if the thought of tasting it physically disgusts her.</p>
<p>"Is that vodka?" Happy asks hopefully.</p>
<p>Natasha shakes her head. "Bourbon."</p>
<p>Happy walks behind the counter and leans down, grabbing another shot glass. He sets it heavily beside the bourbon and moodily pours the alcohol inside of the glass. The smell makes Peter's throat burn. He feels tears press at the corners of his eyes when he realizes the smell reminds him of May. He needs to get home. She might be up by now. If he can catch her at the right time, before she's had much time to think, today might be a good day.</p>
<p>"Do you have any dizziness?" Bruce asks. Peter's attention snaps to him, blinking once before he processes the question.</p>
<p>"Um, no." Peter lies.</p>
<p>"Did you hit your head recently?"</p>
<p>"No more so than usual." At Bruce's disgruntled look, Peter adds with slight sigh, "Being Spider-Man doesn't mean I'm concussion proof. And people kinda have a tendency to go for the head. There aren't any problems. I'm okay. I promise."</p>
<p>"And yet," Natasha's voice is cool, eyes still on her glass, but it's obvious her attention isn't on it. "You still seized. That isn't something to take lightly."</p>
<p>Peter's lips press together. Logically, he knows that. But every emotional response within him wants to ignore it. He rubs a finger over the top of the counter's smooth surface, agitated. "It wasn't that big of a deal. The nurse already went over all of this with me. She said I was fine."</p>
<p>"Has it happened before?" Bruce questions, choosing to ignore that.</p>
<p>Peter suppresses a sigh. "I mean, a few times? I guess?" Peter says, looking at his finger, not wanting to see Bruce's expression. His nail has traces of dried blood beneath the surface, which surprises and repulses him. Gah. When was the last time he seriously cleaned his hands? That's disgusting.</p>
<p>"You <em>guess?</em>" Bruce asks skeptically.</p>
<p>"This is the third time." Peter submits, rubbing his thumb nail beneath his others to start and clean out the crusted blood. "I don't know. I wasn't standing up for the other ones. They didn't seem as…" <em>terrifying </em>is the word that comes to mind, but he bites down on it. Instead, he says, "<em>big."</em></p>
<p>Bruce nods, like that actually made sense. He's staring at Peter's eyes, though, "Did you hit your head when you fell today?"</p>
<p>"No." Peter says, though he's not sure. "Really, Dr. Banner. I'm okay."</p>
<p>Again, he's ignored. Bruce lifts up a hand and gently prods the back of Peter's hair. Peter twitches, not expecting the touch. His rough fingers are gentle as they card through the loose strands, searching for a bump. When he doesn't find one, the chemist leans back to look at Peter's face, checking pupil dilation. Apparently as satisfied as he's going to get, he backs off.</p>
<p>"I don't think anything obviously wrong." Bruce concedes after a moment, working his lower lip between his teeth. "But I still want to go over it in the med wing before you leave. It's better—"</p>
<p>"—to catch these things early," Peter finishes, flicking the gathered grains of blood to the floor. He can't remember the last time he was bloody enough after patrol for this to happen. He took a knife to the arm a few days ago, but he didn't think it bled that badly. All he has now are bruises. "I know. My school nurse mentioned that."</p>
<p>Bruce nods again, then sighs, rubbing a hand across his forehead, brushing hair from his eyes. In a tired, but doubtful mumble, he adds, "there will be time before you leave."</p>
<p>Natasha makes a noise in the back of her throat, like she's choking on a laugh. "Your optimism is cute."</p>
<p>Bruce glances at her, his posture tight. "It's just a few more hours."</p>
<p>"You and I have seen enough crime scenes to know that isn't the case." Natasha reminds him dutifully. She looks back at the glass, her graceful fingers tightening around the edges. Her wrist bumps against the .45, and Peter feels himself shift as the gun does. Natasha doesn't even look at it, exhausted. "It will be days before they're satisfied."</p>
<p><em>Days?</em> Peter frowns at that, a thought occurring to him. "Where are Tony, Pepper and Morgan staying? Is their whole apartment a crime scene? Or just the table?"</p>
<p>Happy sighs heavily, taking a long drink of his bourbon, grimacing, and then says, "Last I was up there, it was."</p>
<p>Peter's lips press together with discomfort. He's stayed often enough here that one of the guest rooms in the Stark's apartment he's come to sort of think of as a second room. It makes him uncomfortable to know he's subconsciously claimed it, but it was something that happened so gradually he wasn't able to stop it. The thought of the police rifling through it makes his stomach tighten.</p>
<p>"Why? They found the body in the kitchen." Peter finds himself saying.</p>
<p>Natasha and Bruce share a look, one that speaks a thousand words between it. Natasha finally turns away from the counter to carefully scoot herself backwards, so their eyes can meet with Bruce's shoulders in the way. Her gaze is steady. "Peter, the blood trail is pretty extensive. Zhao didn't die in the kitchen. None of us, or the police, can find the murder weapon. We know it was blunt force trauma, but we don't know by <em>what.</em>"</p>
<p>Wait. If there's a blood trail, then she didn't die in the kitchen.</p>
<p>Someone <em>dragged </em>her body there.</p>
<p>Peter feels his eyes close in morbid disgust. He's seen blood before. He's been in battles. He wandered through corpses in the final fight on the charred Compound a few months ago. But...</p>
<p>"Someone bashed her skull in." Peter concludes. "And you...don't know by what."</p>
<p>"Yeah." Bruce says quietly. "Having that information would help us locate a perpetrator a lot faster. There's no DNA anywhere, no footage. It's like Zhao was killed by a ghost. It's a perfect locked-room scenario, without the locked room."</p>
<p>Peter suddenly wishes he knew more about forensics. Any and all information he has is mostly gathered from the media and books, which he doubts is an accurate portrayal of reality. Spider-Man doesn't get a lot of first hand experience, ergo, neither does Peter. "Do...do they know when she was killed?"</p>
<p>"Not yet." Natasha says, brushing stray hair from her face. "They were finally taking the body out when I left ten minutes ago. We're guessing sometime after FRIDAY's main systems went down. So after three or four in the morning."</p>
<p>That wasn't even ten hours ago. Peter's skin crawls. Zhao was a live ten hours ago, alive, happy, <em>warm. </em>And now she's sitting in a body bag. She was <em>on Tony's freakin' table. </em>"Has Tony had any luck? With getting FRIDAY back online?" Peter asks, desperate to think of something else.</p>
<p>"She is online," Happy says, sounding indignant. Peter's gaze lifts to him, noting that the man has drained his glass dry and seems only more frustrated by it than soothed. At least he's still functioning. And he's not angry. "She's just confined to Tony's phone and a few computers." Happy explains.</p>
<p>Right. Peter remembers Happy mentioning something like that in the car. How she didn't have any memory of the attack, but that doesn't mean that she was <em>gone. </em>"How's that going?" Peter asks carefully.</p>
<p>Natasha's shoulders drop, and she sighs, tipping her head back. "Poorly. If he wasn't trying to multi-task a dozen and a half things right now, it might be going faster." She's quiet a moment, then her lip quirks in bitter mirth, "The funny thing about this to me is that the police want that footage, and they aren't giving him the room to actually <em>get </em>it."</p>
<p>Peter nods. That sounds exactly like something the police would do. The thought is tired.</p>
<p>Bruce rubs at his eyes. He rests his body heavily against the countertop, then blows out a long breath. Peter scrapes more blood out from beneath his fingernail, compulsively biting at his lower lip. The question is on the edge of his tongue, but he's hesitant to say anything, because a part of him is content not knowing. But he swallows it down, and says hesitantly, "Um, have the, uh, have FBI gotten involved? Do you guys know how this is affecting the court case?"</p>
<p>"FBI showed up before the NYPD," Happy tells him with an edge of annoyance. "We even got a few people from the CIA drop in."</p>
<p>Peter's wide eyes lift to him. He shifts forward on the stool. "Really? That's...whoa."</p>
<p>Natasha's scowl says otherwise. "Any ground we'd scraped in our favor is gone. I don't know how any lawyer is going to explain this in a positive way."</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>Yeah.</p>
<p>It makes sense. It does. That doesn't mean Peter isn't disappointed. He'd hoped...Tony made it sound like they were on favorable ground the last time they talked about it. That was only a few days ago. How could things have gone wrong so quickly? As childish as it is, Peter wants to grab the universe and shout <em>it's not fair! </em>into its endless depths.</p>
<p>Why can't they have this one thing after <em>everything?</em></p>
<p><em>Why </em>did OsCorp have to put the blame of the Blip on the Avengers? It wasn't their fault. They were just trying to <em>fix </em>things. Isn't that what everyone <em>wanted?</em></p>
<p>"What are you going to do, then?" Peter asks, trying not to sound as frantic as he feels. "You can't just...give up."</p>
<p>"We're not going to," Bruce assures. "It's just going to take some time to get this under control. Pepper talked to them. They're already putting a plan together. We'll work around this, okay?" He reaches out a hand and rests it on Peter's arm. His fingers, as usual, are warm, and Peter's skin seems to sigh in relief beneath the contact.</p>
<p>Peter doesn't believe him. He can't. He's not stupid. He knows how these things go. The optimist died in him about the same time Thanos killed him. Maybe he came back wrong. Maybe everyone did, and that's why this whole thing started.</p>
<p>"But what if you <em>can't?" </em>Peter asks, feeling hopelessness taking large chunks out of his chest. "Because if you lose because Zhao got dumped on Tony's table, then you're all going to go to prison. You might even get <em>executed </em>and I don't...I don't want that to happen. What if you <em>do </em>die, and then there's no one—"</p>
<p>"Peter," Natasha leans forward, gripping his knee. Her expression is steady, her eyes endless and dark. She looks...old. "It's going to be okay."</p>
<p>No, it's not.</p>
<p>It never is.</p>
<p>Humans tell each other that because they don't know what else to say. They say it like they can bend the universe to their will with enough repeats. It's not <em>reality. </em>Not in Peter's experience. Things haven't been okay since he was fourteen. Even before that.</p>
<p>"I don't," Peter's voice feels impossibly small, "want any of you to die. I don't want you to go to prison."</p>
<p>He wishes the Blip didn't bring back Norman Osborn. It's a terrible, quiet longing inside of him that's been sitting there since he tangled the Avengers into this mess. If Osborn hadn't been brought back, the Avengers wouldn't be on house arrest in the Tower. Thor and Loki could go back to New Asgard. Clint could see Laura. Falcon could see his sister.</p>
<p>They wouldn't be facing possible execution, at the very least a long imprisonment.</p>
<p>Natasha's lips pinch, and her eyes crease at the edges. Whatever thought was on her mind never makes air, as at that moment, the elevator doors open. Peter turns his head automatically in the direction of the sound, as do everyone else's.</p>
<p>Peter catches a glimpse of the familiar dark head of brown hair before Tony exits the hall leading to the communal room. He squints into the sun like it hurts, and then turns toward them. Peter feels relief loosen his stiff muscles at the sight of him despite the man's exhausted appearance. Tony looks, in short, like he got run over by a bus. Worry-worn face, tousled hair, and messy clothing, the latter of which is pretty obviously pajamas. There's a Stark Industries hoodie thrown over the top like he's trying to be more presentable, but he's not even wearing shoes, just a pair of patterned socks. Peter can see the bulge and faint glow of the arc reactor beneath the zipper on his chest.</p>
<p>Tony's eyes swing around the room, jump over the various figures, then land on Peter. His shoulders visibly slump with relief. "Hey," he says tiredly, but his tone is warm. He strides across the room and envelopes Peter in a quick hug.</p>
<p>Peter's eyes close tightly at the familiar warmth, and he buries himself inside of Tony's arms for a moment. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to Tony's hugs, or get enough of them. They're so different from May's. They're warm and tight, like Tony never wants to let him go. They feel safe. Not methodical, not cold, <em>safe.</em></p>
<p>Tony pulls back, keeping his hands on Peter's shoulders, and stares at his face for long seconds. "You look kind of gray. Are you okay?" Instead of waiting for an answer, he turns to Bruce. "Is he okay? He doesn't look okay. You said the nurse said he was okay." The last part is directed at Happy.</p>
<p>Peter represses an annoyed sigh. He gets why they keep asking, he does. It's just...they shouldn't <em>have </em>to. Peter shouldn't have passed out in school. He's just bothering everyone now. Making a big deal out of nothing. And it's not. That big of a deal, that is. May said that it wasn't. Why is everyone taking it so seriously when she told him to just brush it off? They don't <em>know </em>it was a seizure.</p>
<p><em>What else, </em>a sly voice in the back of his mind counters, <em>could it have been?</em></p>
<p>"As far as I can tell," Bruce confirms. "I still want to go over it in the med wing before he leaves."</p>
<p>"Of course," Tony agrees, releasing Peter's shoulders. His hands fall at his sides, then fumble for a moment, like he doesn't know what to do with them. "I didn't want him to leave without it anyway. We'll...just have to find some time to fit that in." He runs his hands through his hair.</p>
<p>Peter sighs, but doesn't argue, resigned to his fate. He leans his side against the countertop, resting his hands on his lap. Tony is still looking at him, his face tight and mouth unhappy. Peter knows—is fairly certain—that it's not because of <em>him, </em>but something else.</p>
<p>Tony's eyes lift up and spot the bourbon on the counter. There's a moment where his expression seems to flinch. Happy discreetly moves the bottle out of his line of sight, but it doesn't seem to help. Tony swallows compulsively, like he's trying to bite back a surge of <em>want.</em></p>
<p>The sight is a familiar one to him after May's relapse. That doesn't mean that the yawning pit of <em>please no </em>in his stomach is any easier to bear.</p>
<p>Tony, Peter notices, doesn't even look twice at the .45 gun on the countertop, as if he expected it to be there. Is Peter really the only one who's uncomfortable with it there?</p>
<p>Natasha leans forward, "How is Morgan doing?"</p>
<p>"What?" Tony looks at her, but the distraction seems to work, snapping him from his thoughts. "Oh. Um." He sighs heavily, and shifts his feet, looking toward the ground and rubbing at his forehead. "Not great. She hasn't talked since this morning. Pep took her to my lab, but I don't know if that's going to help any. It's something familiar to her, at least."</p>
<p>Yeah. Peter, too. Not just for working, but also for homework and mindlessly talking.</p>
<p>"The police backed off of trying to get a statement from her yet?" Happy asks.</p>
<p>...they what? They want <em>what </em>from Morgan? Peter feels his face pale, then draw tight. Tony's shaking his head, but before he can say anything, Peter interrupts, "She's <em>four. </em>Why the heck would they need her statement?"</p>
<p>A look passes between the three Avengers, and Peter can hear Happy shift in discomfort behind him. His lack of knowledge for today's events feels him with a surge of frustration. It's things like this that he should know, but he doesn't. Because he wasn't <em>here. </em>Instead, he was passing out and making himself into a massive inconvenience.</p>
<p>"She found the body first." Bruce explains.</p>
<p>Morgan...</p>
<p>Peter thinks of Ben, laying on the sidewalk, blood smeared across his fingers and everything else. The slow stain from the bullet wound, the gaping, choked sound that he made while blood bubbled up his throat. Peter's fingers, helpless, pushing down the wound but only making things worse, and Ben's final words of <em>I'm scared...don't...wanna go...</em>pulsing through his head for weeks and weeks afterwards.</p>
<p>His throat is dry.</p>
<p>He swallows.</p>
<p>Blinks.</p>
<p>"Oh." He intones weakly. He clenches his hands into fists, trying to get feeling back inside of them. The weight of those words register, and he looks at Tony, feeling sick. "She saw the corpse? Did she touch it? Does anyone know how long she saw it?"</p>
<p>Peter knows corpses. How the lack of life turns people into stiff, dead marionettes with their strings clipped and laying around them like snake skins. That's not something anyone's ready to see. Let alone a <em>four-year-old. </em>Morgan isn't stupid. This is...Peter wants to groan. He's going to <em>kill </em>this blood murderer. They had no right to do that to Morgan. To anyone, but especially Morgan.</p>
<p>"She was...she screamed." Tony says after a moment, the words awkwardly tumbling from him as if they're hard to say. "I've never heard her sound like that before. I.." his gaze skirts away, fists clenching, "I don't think she was there for long. God knows I hope not."</p>
<p><em>Oh. </em>Suddenly, Tony's appearance makes a lot more sense. If he'd jumped out of bed at her voice, then he didn't have any time to make himself more presentable. It may have been hours since they found the body, and the blood trail…</p>
<p>The blood trail.</p>
<p>Blood.</p>
<p>Peter looks at his fingernails, still faintly brownish-red, and wants to scrub at his hands until he can remove layers of skin to get to muscle. Muscles would be <em>clean.</em></p>
<p>Tony releases a heavy breath, running a hand through his hair. He looks at Peter seriously. "I know that this is a lot to process, and I'm sorry. But I don't know if this was an attack on SI, or my family, and until I'm sure which, I need you to stay here for a few days. May can come too if—"</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, man.</em>
</p>
<p>"No." Peter blurts. Tony looks confused, and Peter grapples with his tongue, desperate for any sort of excuse. One would think that after almost three years as Spider-Man, he would be a better liar. And yet… "No. May's, um," <em>destroying her liver good and proper, "</em>busy. People don't know that we know each other, anyway, remember? Do I have to stay here? May needs me at home right now."</p>
<p>He should be there, but part of him knows that it's helpless. Even if he hides the bottles again, she's going to find some other means. The stimulus checks for the Blip victims only cover so much, and their finances are barely holding rent. He has to keep her floating on her downward spiral, because if he doesn't, they'll be on the streets before October's out.</p>
<p>But he can't explain this to Tony.</p>
<p>The thought of doing so makes him want to puke. Tony's already busy with everything else. Peter hasn't been able to work up the courage to tell him about May's relapse. Part of him is afraid that Tony would react badly to hearing it, and the multi-billionaire's trying so hard to get six years clean. Peter can't compromise that.</p>
<p>Tony's eyebrows draw together with anxiety. "I get that. But we have to consider every possibility. With FRIDAY's servers a mess," there's an edge to his voice here that Peter can't place. "I can't keep you guys safe from a distance. None of us can leave this freakin' building."</p>
<p>Peter's hand clenches.</p>
<p>"We can send a protective detail to the apartment," Natasha suggests. "Then they can stay home, and we can have peace of mind."</p>
<p>A protective detail? Are they serious? Did they forget that Peter is <em>Spider-Man? </em>If push comes to shove, he can keep them safe. That's his job. To look out for people. Especially May. Nothing is going to happen to May while he's around. Not if he can help it.</p>
<p>
  <em>Except her getting alcohol poisoning and dying. You don't do anything about that. Not that you've really tried.</em>
</p>
<p>Peter waves off the voice as best he can, but it's hard.</p>
<p>"Send <em>who?" </em>Tony's voice is incredulous. "There's so few people left on this planet that I can trust <em>my </em>life with, let alone Peter's, and <em>all </em>of them are locked down in this building."</p>
<p>"The FBI's downstairs," Bruce points out, "we could ask them."</p>
<p>"You think the FBI is going to help us with OsCorp's case resting on us?" Tony sounds like he wants to laugh. "I don't want Peter dragged into that if I can help it. They aren't supposed to know he exists."</p>
<p>The words, he knows, are protective, but something inside of him shrivels at it.</p>
<p><em>...Aren't supposed to exist...</em>You <em>aren't supposed to exist.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>You died five years ago.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Death should be permanent, not a tourist destination to and from.</em>
</p>
<p>"Tony," Peter interjects quietly. They all look at him, and Peter ducks his head, wishing that they would stop. He hates the attention. The words barely make it out of him. "We're not helpless. I'm Spider-Man, remember?"</p>
<p>Tony's shoulders drop a fraction. He releases a tight breath and nods. "I know. I do. I just…"</p>
<p>"Let's wait a few hours before we make any decisions," Natasha suggests, and Bruce nods in agreement. "None of us are thinking clearly." Bone-weariness touches at the edge of her features before she says with a frustrated sigh, "We need to get back downstairs anyway."</p>
<p>Tony makes a sound close to a groan in his throat. He turns to Peter. "Not you. I don't want them to know you're here. Actually," he looks thoughtful, then relieved, and asks hopefully, "how do you feel about babysitting Morgan for a few hours while we deal with this? Then we can talk about what we'll do after. And get you to the med wing. Okay?"</p>
<p>All he wants to do is curl up on a couch somewhere and sleep for a few hours. The enervation from the seizure (<em>not a seizure, yes a seizure, not a seizure, yes—) </em>has yet to leave him, making his brain feel like it's moving through muddy, wet concrete.</p>
<p>Peter nods on autopilot, his stomach knotted up somewhere in his sternum. But anxiety has become a given thing by the second rather than minute now, so he ignores it.</p>
<p>With the edge of his thumb, Peter scrapes the final edge of blood out from underneath his nails, and gets to his feet.</p>
<p>He makes it about a whole second before his back seizes up in knots of pain and discomfort, and refuses to hold him. He collapses forward, falling face-first into Tony's chest with a yelped cuss, slamming his cheek heavily against the ridges of the arc reactor. His cheekbone goes white-hot with agony, and he scrambles away, apologies and swears falling off his lips in concession. He can't make his vision focus anymore.</p>
<p>Tony's hands reach out and grab him, his voice, when he speaks after a second, is worried and angry. "You're an idiot. Cancel that. NYPD can wait. We gotta get you to the med wing."</p>
<p>Peter shakes his head, regretting that decision immediately. "'m okay," he mumbles in weak protest, "really. Just stood up too fast."</p>
<p>"Peter," Tony's voice is hard, "do not try my patience today. C'mon," he grabs a fistful of Peter's shirt and drags him forward toward the elevator. Peter struggles to get his feet beneath himself, barely hopping an odd step. Tony notices, because of course he does, and he says under his breath, "what's wrong with you?" in a whisper Peter's pretty sure he wasn't supposed to hear. But he does, and he doesn't have any more of an answer than Tony does.</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next chapter: Let's be hopeful, and we'll say before the end of May, okay? Great.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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